


Under the Christmas Tree

by blackmambo



Category: Hollyoaks
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-25 21:13:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17128841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackmambo/pseuds/blackmambo
Summary: Prompt from @jarryprompts: “Harry waiting for James under the Christmas tree wearing nothing but a big red bow please…!”Originally submitted from @jarryxox





	Under the Christmas Tree

Feeling overwhelmed by the surrounding sea of emptiness that marked the approaching night, James stumbled his way desolately through the ill-lighted village with only the distant flickering of Christmas lights to accompany him on his path back home. He wasn’t sure whether it was to do with the day’s overhanging sense of unity and spirit and the way in which this conflicted with his own foul mood but today, walking alone with the image of his father sat across the table from his son at Christmas dinner etched mockingly in the back of his mind, well he felt especially defeated.

It seemed that both the misery and alcohol had done a good job of numbing his senses. It’s not that James couldn’t smell the trimmings and potatoes laced in goose fat or hear the distant muffled blare of Christmas music, he just wasn’t fully aware of it. Pulling the freshly-purchased bottle of red wine that he’d been cradling protectively underneath his jacket in further, he noted shamefully how on days such as these, when there was little else to preoccupy his mind, the day would always end for him in exactly the same way in which it had started. How in both the early hours of the morning and the late hours of the night, he’d make a brief trip to Price Slice to purchase another bottle of wine, face always burrowed deeply into his scarf in an attempt to cloak his misery from the many prying faces that often pervaded the streets of Chester.

He wasn’t quite sure at which point in his life he’d came to care so much about what the local ex-druggy, Ken Doll or a McQueen thought about him but shielding his face in his scarf’s soft blanket of warmth and security had become common practice for him in recent weeks.

And it always had to be the same scarf too. He convinced himself that the simple reasoning behind this was because it was the warmest, most expensive scarf that he owned but of course this was not the entire truth. This particular scarf was very special to him for two good additional reasons. Not only had it been personally picked out for him by his beloved grandmother Tabby, but he’d lent this particular scarf to Harry on more than one occasion. Often they’d even found themselves having playful disputes regarding the true identity of its colour.

“It’s white.”

“It’s grey.

“I can assure you, as both its purchaser and proud flaunter for ten or so plus years, the scarf is white.”

“You must have just gotten it grubby then.”

Sometimes on his loneliest days, he’d pull the scarf in tighter, close his eyes and allow himself to picture himself enveloped in Harry’s embrace. Of course cashmere could never quite replace the tenderness and delicacy of a human touch and Harry’s was more than just any touch. It was soft, deft, solacing, friendly, understanding, warm… but two glasses in and it was almost easy to pretend; almost.

James often tried fooling himself that it was never really about the alcohol, never because he really wanted nor needed it. That it was merely an excuse for him to leave his flat on unbearable days such as today, a brief pause in the routine of solitary and sadness that he had allowed himself to slip into. If nothing else, it offered him the opportunity for a chance encounter with Romeo or his mother (even though admittedly they hadn’t exactly been on the best of speaking terms as of late), without having to go to the grand gesture of knocking on doors. But it wasn’t just that. Besides work and his slowly but surely blossoming relationship with his son, his customary rounds to the local mini-market followed by a thorough search down every turning and alley for a particular face, Harry’s face, felt like his only current motivation in life.

Sometimes, in his dreams he’d find Harry dozing away in the folly, his face its same perfect, gentle sculpture, sleepy and content, oblivious to the anxiety and disturbance that he’d caused to James and his life. On other nights he’d have a slight variation of this very same dream and find Harry waiting for him outside his flat still dressed in his same sodden wedding clothes, face and body laced with bruises but somehow still smiling that same sprightly, infectious smile. Unfortunately however, when it came to real life, he never once did strike lucky. Some days he hated Harry for doing this to him. Others he simply hated himself for being so grossly lovesick and allowing himself to be demeaned in such a way.

His surroundings being so dark and him being so intoxicated, James took extra care to make sure to keep a sharp eye out for any potential obstructions littering his path (which turned out to be everything in his drunken state; even his own feet). Ten steps in however and this particular train of thought was forgotten, abandoned by the realisation that he’d if not both rather unconsciously and selfishly taken the short route back home rather than his usual thorough loop around the village in search for Harry.

Turning back and making his way over towards the folly, he could hear the distant rowdiness of a pair of mutual drunks, singing their own special rendition of Jingle Bells. Nice to hear something human, James thought, although the comforting sensation of Harry’s light breathing against his chest was the only sound that truly mattered to him right now.

Finding nothing but a discarded newspaper on one of the benches although reassured nonetheless to find no latest headline of “young rent boy found dead in a ditch”, James was left disheartened to find that his unsteady slog towards the folly had been in vain.

The passing image of Harry lying somewhere dead, of the lifelessness in his blue eyes caused a figmental headache to develop in the side of his head, so he allowed himself a moment to try and encourage the image away with a massaging hand. Once again however, his efforts proved futile. Willing to adopt any passing thought in order to drive away the dreadful images playing repeatedly in his mind’s eye, James tried inviting a different stream of inessential thought but his efforts somehow always ended up leading him straight back to Harry.

Scratching frustratedly at his beard with his free hand, he tried a different approach of focusing his attention on a different kind of pain, leaving him to consider which one hurt him more: his moments spent wandering drunkenly alone in an empty street or drinking alone in an empty flat. At least, he told himself, when things still moved outside life went on. At least that way when he lay passed out on the sofa by half-eight every evening after his third or so bottle, he could trick his brain into believing that, even if only by the off chance, one of the many set of footsteps that he heard trudging by his flat at night belonged to Harry.

He tried playing a similar enough game now, straining his ears that had been furiously tinged red by the cold as they scanned briefly towards the direction of each surrounding household. Each one of them an invisible speck in the universe. The Lomax’s. The McQueen’s. The Hutchinson’s. The Hutchinsons. He was sure that if he dared to listen closely enough, he would hear them now, all so harmoniously ignorant, continuing on with their lives without Harry with such careless ease. He tried distinguishing between each voice, tried pairing each one with a face but it was never the face he wanted to see; never Harry’s.

In fact, it didn’t take much to make him think of Harry. He couldn’t quite describe the feeling but it was like the constant dull panging of a toothache. If only, James thought, sleep could alleviate this particular kind of pain.

He needed a distraction from it. He did consider, perhaps for the fraction of a millisecond the possibility of paying a quick visit to his son over at 4 Oakdale Drive, his father’s current place of residence. That would certainly help to divert his thoughts away from Harry. His father had after all made it his life’s work to make every waking moment of James’s life a misery ever since the moment he’d been born. It would be difficult for him having to face them all at once: Mac, his mother, Alfie, Donne-Marie… but he knew that it would mean a lot to Romeo and at least that way he could show him that he was trying, really was trying…

Deep down however, a part of him knew that this was a terrible idea and he wasn’t entirely confident that in his current drunken state he could resist the urge to turf his father’s smug, complacent ass straight out of his chair. Certainly not upon witnessing him attempting to poison his son against him whilst all the while, everyone else around him remained fooled by his newly reformed, frail old man act. Nor did he wish to contribute towards any kind of happy family pretence that they might have had going. Besides… he didn’t wish to give the wrong impression that he had only dared to show his face there for the company. It wasn’t exactly a particular desire of his to look that overtly desperate in front of an audience…

So instead, James resorted to doing what he had always done on his darkest days in youth, scanning over and counting the cracks in the pavement, tiptoeing between them as if they were snare traps as he made his way back home from school as a frightened, bitter teenage boy. He realised how stupid this might have sounded to any outside party but it gave him a distraction from the truth. Took his mind away from counting down the steps until he made it back home to that monster; to his father and whatever beating he might have had planned out next for him. But at least this way, as he invested himself in scrutinizing the concrete for any of its flaws, he could fool himself into believing that it wasn’t really his life, that it was the path to somebody else’s home. Mimicking those same youthful steps now, tracing the ground with those same vulnerable eyes, he even allowed himself to echo one same juvenile thought. It was a silent plea mostly, that if he had to have this life, if Mac had to be his father, if he couldn’t have Harry then he prayed that the sound of his footsteps mattered to at least one person.

In the distance there was this disruptive clompling sound as a figure started to approach about to cross paths with him. So heavily absorbed however, in dodging cracks and the sound of his own drunken steps, James barely noticed it.

It was only the blunt impact of human flesh, multiple shopping bags and the consequent driving of the sheltering wine bottle into his ribs that tore him away from his current trance and James’s head was left feeling all the more woozy from the sudden startlement.

“Harr-”

“Oi! Watch where you’re going!” chided a scornful voice.

Still caught off guard from the collision and needing a moment for his eyes to readjust, James opted not to rise to this particular scolding, instead continuing to hold his gaze towards the floor whilst he worked on recovering both his breath and balance. Then, shaking his head in a further attempt to will the fuzziness away, he tried to make out the sight of the figure stood before him. Heels, he could see a pair of heels. Hideous ones at that if you asked him. And a rather odd choice of shoes for this kind of weather, he added disapprovingly as an internal afterthought.

Once he felt fully braced enough to come face to face with the irked figure that remained towering over him, James allowed his eyes to disengage from the inadequately clothed feet and sweep upwards to find a much less than amused McQueen scowling fiercely back at him.

“Ughh, Nightingale! Trust it to be you!” The figure fired a disapproving glance at James before thrusting her arms forward in as best an attempt as she could manage at shoving him, despite the number of bags and gifts she was carrying, causing him to re-lose hold of his footing.

Unprepared for this second blow to the ribs, James grabbed instinctively onto his assailant’s sleeve in an attempt to steady himself.

“Ahh, Mercedes,” James unthreatened, began smugly. “So there is life on Mars after all. Glad to see we’re not all that far drunk on eggnog, false jollity and uncharacteristical kindness to the extent of being delusional.”

“And there were me thinking that people of your kind spent the day with their faces buried up to their neck in paperwork rather than Christmas dinner.”

“Actually,” James said, adopting an informative tone “that’s precisely what I’m doing.”

“Oh, so who’s that for then?” Mercedes enquired nosily, eyeballing the bottle of wine that was now swaying loosely from James’s grasp.

“That really is none of your business,” James responded bluntly, attempting to brush his way past her.

“Go on!” Mercedes encouraged, further blocking James’s exit. “I won’t tell anyone. Who’s the lucky fella?”

James stood staring menacingly at her for a while before relenting when it soon became clear that she had no intention of moving. “Okay, fine. It’s for me, if you must know. Do you know, it’s not until you walk the vacant streets of Chester alone on a dark December night that you realise how insignificant you really are in the grand scheme of things.“

“Bit of a morbid take on life that, don’t you think love?”

“Maybe,” James replied unleashing a sad, ironic smile.“Only slightly.“

“Well if that’s what a mountain of paperwork does to your head, I sure am glad I didn’t choose to become a lawyer.”

"Dad! There you are!” a voice intruded in an overly spirited tone.

“And suddenly they all come at once,” James observed, hoping that the enthusiasm carried in his voice would help to conceal the uneasiness he felt at his son’s sudden appearance. In fact, rather ashamedly in that moment, he tried to picture Harry. Just the thought of Harry helped to calm his nerves. Not that he blamed Romeo for any of it but he longed for a day where he could look at his son without seeing her; Donna-Marie and that dreadful night.

“Dad?!“ Mercedes was scanning Romeo’s face intently with an amused sparkle in her eyes before allowing her glance to slide back to James as if assessing both of their faces for any kind of resemblance. “You kept that one quiet. Full of surprises you are!” She exclaimed now satisfied, hitting James playfully several times on the upper arm.“Anyway, I’ll leave you boys to it. Besides, I’d best be getting off anyway. Mum’s just about to dish up the turkey kebabs!”

James simply nodded in acknowledgement at her goodbye, before drifting his foggy gaze back to Romeo.

“Romeo… Look, I know what I said about the possibility of the two of us getting to spend some more time together but now really isn’t a good time.”

“And I suppose that’s your third bottle so far today is it?” he replied critically, noticing James’s unsteady stance and gesturing towards the wine bottle.

“Well don’t look so judgemental. It’s to accompany me and my ever-growing bundle of paperwork if you must know. You know, James Nightingale, hot shot lawyer. It’s kind of part of the job I’m afraid.“

“Paperwork? But it’s Christmas…”

“Please, don’t remind me. And tell me, what exactly am I supposed to be doing anyway? Sing carols? Gorge myself on overcooked turkey? Sit around playing Pie Face with my homophobic dad and my treachorous excuse of a mother? That’s the kind of thing normal people do at this time of year isn’t it?” James was playfully spacing his words as if to add impact to his careless derision.

Romeo sensing that his father’s confidence was somewhat forced, allowed his voice to soften. “Well, surely that’s got to be better than—“

James cut him off abruptly. “Please, spare me th—“

“And I thought Christmas day without a father was bad enough growing up.”

“Oh come on, what exactly is that supposed to mean?!”

“You really can’t see it can you? All of this, you’re just punishing yourself. You’ve got months of pent up hatred and anger kindling inside of you. You sit around alone in your flat, drowning yourself in drink, putting on a brave face, pretending that you don’t care and then there’s Harry.”

“Do not mention his name!” James snapped, defensively taking a step back from Romeo and crossing his arms protectively across his chest.

Romeo far from discouraged by this took another step forward back towards his father, securing a hand around one of his noticeably trembling wrists as a gesture of comfort before continuing on "You sit there telling yourself that you’re over him, yet you’re still blaming yourself. And the only person that’s suffering for it is you.”

“That’s it, end of conversation!” Face both reddened from the cold and flushed from the outburst, James snatched his arm coldly away from Romeo’s grasp before turning to walk away.

“That’s it walk away from me. I’m not the one that’s alone on Christmas day!”

“I can’t believe I’m hearing this…” James began incredulously, before turning back to face Romeo. “Who would ever have thought that a woman with standards as low as…” he paused for a moment considering what would be a fitting enough jibe “Ste Hay’s IQ could raise a child to become such a critic!”

“Hey, look back off! I’m just trying to help! I know you’ve both got your differences but I’d appreciate you not talking about my mum like that. I didn’t have to come here you know.“

“And why did you come here exactly?” James demanded, inching forward slightly. “Because if it’s presents you’re after, I’m afraid you’re going to be very disappointed. Besides what is it that kids your age are even into these days anyway apart from shoes and cheap-smelling aftershave? Love Island? Those ughhh… those spinny things.”

“What, fidget spinners? No, they went out of trend ages ago.“

“Ahhh… the ever-changing, vacillating nature of the youth. Anyway, I’ve got to sort out my taxes and you’ve got a family to get back to. Say hi, to Juliet for me.”

“Da- James wait!.” Romeo called out desperately after him as James made to turn away. “Surely you could make an exception.”

James stopped in his tracks, scoffing briefly before turning back to face Romeo. “What is it with kids these days and never quite being able to get the point?”

Romeo watched uneasily as James began fiddling with the contents of his right coat pocket. Then, pulling out a series of fifty pound notes and attempting to force a handful into Romeo’s clenched grasp he added “Look, take this and I will make it up to you at a later stage, okay?

“What, no! You don’t get it, do you? I don’t want your money! I heard from Gran how you turned down her offer to come and join us all for lunch today.”

"Oh that,” began James, pausing to give a harsh, derisive laugh. “How was it anyway, your nice little family get together? Cosy and snug, was it?”

“Yeah, it was nice. Look, I didn’t realise things were really that bad between you two; between you and granddad.”

Unable to bring himself to face Romeo whilst discussing Mac, James refocused his attention back to the floor, carelessly unsettling the frost that had began bonding itself to the pavement. “Yes, well… that is a conversation for another day.“

“You know the day’s not quite over yet. You could still come over. Play some games with us.”

“I’m already playing a game my dear boy. It’s called harbouring a broken heart and trying to function on less than three hours of sleep. Besides I’d rather die—”

“Look, would you please just stop with the sarcastic remarks. Gran said that you were likely going to end up spending the day alone and I don’t know… I thought that maybe you could do with some company but if you’d rather live up to the whole lonely, empty future prophecy that you appear to have claimed for yourself then be my guest!”

“Romeo, wait!” James called after him, gesturing towards the direction of his flat. “I’d like that. Some company I mean.”

Romeo simply nodded and smiled as James detected a suspicious, furtive look in his eyes before turning back as if to walk in the opposite direction to the one that James had pointed out.

“Wait, where are you going? The flat’s this way.”

“Price Slice to get some beer.”

“Uhh, I think champagne should suffice nicely enough for you young man,” James said, leading Romeo away by the sleeve.

xxx

Romeo flinched as James slammed his fist weakly into his front door, eyes narrowed in frustration at his continued futile attempts to cram a little silver key into the lock.

“For crying out loud!” James groused before clumsily dropping the metallic cluster into a teeny arch shaped crevice on the cracked floor.

“It’s okay”, Romeo said calmly, ducking gallantly to the ground to retrieve the fallen bunch of keys. “I’ve got it.”

Flushed with frustration, James began removing his scarf. The cool air nipped at his previously sheltered skin and he shivered slightly. The thought that the cooling touch of night mist brushing against his cheek and now fully exposed neck would likely be as close to any form of physical contact (at least of the human, intimate kind) he would feel tonight made his stomach lurch with longing.

Meanwhile, Romeo undoubtedly sober had succeeded in smoothly working the key into the lock on his first attempt and now stood smugly staring at James. This moment of triumph he felt however, was only a temporary pride as he soon found himself left with his own inanimate rival to contend with when the door refused to budge.

James watched in unconcerned amusement as Romeo remained there fighting against it for a moment before opting to kindly put the boy out of his misery.

“Home dripping with money,“ he began, emitting the sweet jangling sound of metal as he extracted the keys from Romeo grasp. "Victim to multiple break-ins. Streets bestrewn with innumerable criminals and thugs. Do you really think I’d risk leaving my home unattended to without double locking it first?”

Romeo blushed as James fiddled around with various sets of keys before holding an individual key up towards the unlit sky, scrutinising it closely with heavy eyes. Satisfied he presented it to Romeo.

The door opened offering a welcoming creak. Once both men had crossed the threshold, Romeo made sure to swiftly force it shut in a bid to keep out the uninvited cold.

Moments afterwards Romeo turned to find James stood stock-still a few metres away from him.

“What is it?” There was a solicitous tone to the boy’s voice.

“I didn’t leave the lights on. Somebody’s been here…”

“Are you sure? I mean the TV’s still on. Maybe you just forgot.”

Leaving the TV switched on whilst the flat remained unaccompanied had only been a recent habit of James’s. Television could never be a true replacement for conversation but it meant not having to go back to a silent flat without Harry there to drain his hot water and leave biscuit crumbs all over his couch. He tried listening now, drowning out the unrelenting pounding in his ears with the familiar senseless sound of a festive family movie playing in the background. Background noise was after all the best company when there was nobody else. He knew that all too well from his solitary days and nights spent inside prison.

James laughed bitterly at the thought that his earlier casual mention of intruders had indeed summoned one.

“Yes, I’m sure! I’m just the fraction of the slightest bit tipsy, not senile.” He was positioning his fingers in front of him as if pinching the air in order to illustrate the accurate extent of his drunkenness.“I mean, seriously? What is it with people and breaking into my flat?! In fact, who even needs keys when you can just break into your own home? Everybody else seems to have no problem letting themselves in…”

Romeo solely shrugged in response, reflecting with regret his own recent commission of this exact crime.

James relieved himself of his jacket, sauntering briefly over towards the kitchen area in order to reunite himself with his deserted, quarter-full wine glass before stroking the side of his nose as if considering something.

Romeo watched uneasily as James reached clumsily over the sink in search of some form of protection before settling his grasp contentedly on the handle of a well-sharpened kitchen knife with a twinkling blade.

“Wow, okay I don’t think that’s entirely necessary,” Romeo discouraged, teasing the knife from James’s loosened grip. “I mean does it appear as if anything has been taken? Seems like a bit of an odd time and place for someone to opt to choreograph a break-in after all.”

“No but that’s not the point,” James said alleviating the wine bottle of its seal before relenting “Okay, maybe you’re right. Maybe I did leave them on and I’m just being paranoid.”

Emotionally drained, James allowed himself to collapse into the firm, plush security of his sofa, gesturing for Romeo to do the same. Now would be a good time for him to offer Romeo the opportunity to spill any details he thought worthy enough of mentioning about his day, which James would acknowledge with dishonest interest with a few stray nods and insincere smiles here and there. Silence on his part would, after all, offer him the chance to recuperate and regain internal strength after another emotionally demanding day; that and another few glasses of wine.

Romeo complied, noting with amusement his father’s apparent abhorrent lack of hosting skills in forgetting to offer him a drink despite pouring out himself one. He was in the middle of describing Marnie’s idea of a fitting Christmas gift for a long-lost grandson when they heard the interrupting muffled thud of a tumbling object. Despite the effect of James’s carpeted bedroom floor swallowing the thump in a swift and soundless brutality, the noise somehow still sounded maiming to James’s own ears.

Two sets of ears pricking up in alarm and both heads turning towards the sound in a brusque manner, James got up with caution, firing Romeo a brief scolding glare of trepidation.“I told you somebody was here!” Romeo simply offered him an apologetic glance in return.

“Stay here!“ James ordered, handing Romeo his glass and removing his shoes before skulking his way over towards the bedroom.

Romeo obeyed readily, unsure about how this next part was going to play out.

As one of his hands latched shakily onto the bedroom door handle, James allowed himself a moment to inspect the scarce, suspicious glow falling in below the door. Then, watchfully turning the handle, he steeled himself to meet his latest in a stream of intruders.

A millisecond’s death glance at his trespasser and James felt as if all breathing had ceased. It was as if he had taken a bullet straight to the heart. His body remained taut in the doorway, face as white as bones in the snow regarding the intruder intently whilst fighting desperately to avoid his pleading gaze. He was standing right in front of the Christmas tree that Romeo (at the boy’s own insistence) had assisted him in putting up just two weeks earlier. Scanning straight past the near concealed hunger in the indescribably captivating blueness of his eyes, James allowed his gaze to fixate briefly on the hideous sight of a perfectly positioned, giant red bow tied a little bit too immaculately around the lad’s neck. Shamefully saddened to find that the bow’s perfectly-even trimmed ends were concealing a fair section of his naked chest, the images of them in bed together soon surfaced in James’s mind. Harry quietly observed as James’s eyes covered the entire length of his unclothed body, furtively withholding the urge to gather James in his arms as James remained unnervingly impassive. His jaw, a perfectly sketched outline, left unshaven. No bruises like he had dreamt. Abs still as perfectly formed and unyielding as the last time he’d traced them with delicate fingertips. Down further still, no further trace of clothing right down to his feet.

Harry feeling increasingly exposed at James’s hardening gaze and its accompanying silence desperately willed for the moment to pass. Soon enough, as if satisfied, James allowed his eyes to fall briskly towards the floor.

"James?” Harry took several tentative steps forward towards James. An extensive involuntary smile tugged at Harry’s lips. For a blissful moment, Harry allowed himself to replay his desired imagining of their reunion, of James falling bonelessly into his arms, nuzzling his face into the crook of his neck in order to re-familiarise himself with the consoling cloud of Harry’s boyish scent. But James could barely bring himself to look at him. This was not how it was supposed to go. Harry wasn’t entirely sure what kind of reaction he’d been expecting exactly. Not that he could exactly blame James for opting to mask the conflicting emotion of pain and yearning with a hard-hearted silence but his rather dispassionate response stung Harry in a way that he couldn’t quite grasp; at least rage would have been something.

For the first time in months, James allowed himself to lock eyes with Harry to which Harry’s own automatically began to sparkle. James’s face was set hard like concrete, with not a single twitch of resentment or longing to betray him.

“Harry? Wha—”

“Dad, is everything okay?” Romeo froze in wordless terror. The boy was left in an apparent paralysed state of perturbation, all apart from his eyes which had darted with overstated eagerness away from Harry and now remained plastered on the ceiling.

Feeling thoroughly humiliated at Romeo’s unexpected arrival, Harry was certain that he’d never blushed this immensely in his entire life. Hands instinctively slipping in a downwards direction to cover himself, Harry repressed the urge to dive straight out of the window and leap onto the next departing plane to Australia, first forsaking his pride before abandoning his disaster of a life and its many chapters to the mercy of the many intrusive villagers (or cockroaches as James would say) that resided in the streets of Chester.

“I thought I told you to stay put,” James reproached trying his best to sound nonchalant, which was rather a struggle given the circumstances.

Numbly his feet carried him towards a small heap of discarded clothes forming a sodden mound carelessly by the foot of the bed closest to James’s side of the room. A jumper, a vest, a pair of jeans, socks, all dripping wet; odd seeing as it wasn’t raining outside. James released a weary sigh, infinitely grateful to find that Harry’s boxers were not in the same saturated condition as its sopping counterparts. He took a moment to quell the lurching pulse he felt at the base of his throat before turning back to readdress Harry, tossing the only slightly dampened pair of boxers aimfully in his direction. Harry smiled ruefully both in acknowledgement and shame.

Out of respect to Harry, James ensured to turn away whilst Harry made to dress himself. When James finally dared to speak again his voice was very low but still full of indecipherable emotion. “Harry, what are you doing here?” he directed to the floor.

“I…” Harry fell silent, his lips forming a soundless shuddering plea: James, I love you. Just take me in your arms and hold me, please. He was shivering.

James could feel the muscles in his hands twitching, still trying to process the sight of his half-naked lover. Whilst his head desperately told him to flee before his guard had a chance to slip and leave his heart defenceless once more, he couldn’t deny the inner compulsion he felt to just hold him. James’s mouth twitched as if intending to say something but said nothing. Instead he began edging his way across the room but only to retrieve an inadequately-sized fleece blanket from a pile of folded linen to wrap Harry up in. A groan escaped from Harry as James secured the blanket around his pale, trembling shoulders. He was slightly thinner than James had remembered which only made the temptation to submit himself to desire and secure him into a fixed embrace all the more difficult to withstand but somehow he managed. As much as he ached from resisting, James could not quite stifle a feeble, defeated moan from escaping his own lips. Harry’s leaping heart now just a hairbreadth away from his own, he was sure he could feel it reaching for him through the cold air, beating hard against him like a little drum. He tried his best to ignore it before leading Harry unresistingly away from the cold surroundings of the bedroom to the living room.

Romeo long departed from the bedroom by this time, was sitting hunched on the edge of the sofa, apparently so far engrossed in ‘The Muppet Christmas Carol’ that it wasn’t until he heard the click and consequent loud steaming of a kettle that he realised Harry sat awkwardly beside him. The blanket enveloping Harry was large enough to just about cover his shoulders but not enough to prevent several abs from peeping through. Romeo was almost certain this had been a deliberate move on James’s part.

Retrieving the hideous, red Christmas jumper that Harry had borrowed from him the previous year (and fucked him in, although he urged this particular thought to fall from his mind), James removed the bow from Harry’s neck before assisting him in shouldering his shivering form into the scratchy, insatiable embrace of the jumper. The jumper was a baggy fit and Harry allowed his hands to disappear into the cuffs. Draping the blanket over Harry’s uncovered legs, James wandered back towards the kitchen to work on making a coffee for Harry in a bid to warm him up further as well as pouring out a glass of champagne for Romeo; as earlier promised.

The dull smack of a porcelain mug on the coffee table signalled James preparing to get down to business, derailing Harry from paranoid thoughts about the possibility of losing James for good in failure of winning around his affections.

Meanwhile, eyes focused and unmoving and ears concentrating desperately on the sounds of the television in a strenuous effort to distract himself from the tense atmosphere, Romeo also started at the sound. When he heard the sound of his own drink smack against the table, followed by the brief scratching of glass against glass as James pushed it close enough towards him for it to be within his reach, he did not waste the energy to lift his head, assuming that his father’s acquired taste in alcoholic beverages would differ vastly from his own.

Freeing his hands from the jumper, Harry wrapped them securely around the steamy mug and inhaled deeply, instantly feeling more awakened from breathing in the caffeine as well as alert from the transient sighting of James’s sullen glare.

Both Harry’s modesty and warmth restored, James prepared himself mentally for the gentle method of interrogation he had lined up for Harry, not entirely certain that he wished to know the answers. Restless and unable to bring himself to sit, he began pacing listlessly around the sitting area before planting his feet behind the coffee table, obscuring Romeo’s view of the television. Wine bottle and glass back within reach, he took the opportunity to pour himself out another glass and God he was going to need it.

Shuffling as far to the end of the sofa as he could without losing sight of the TV or having to crane his neck to block James out of his field of vision, Romeo remained locked in an awkward position as rigid as a statue until a twinge in his neck forced him to reposition. The sofa’s thick layer of cushions meant that he was already perched awkwardly towards its end, making his position uncomfortable enough already. This as well as knowledge about the probable confrontation that was about to come between the two stubborn lovers did nothing to ease his discomfort. Sighing and surrendering himself to the unwelcome demands of discomfort, Romeo leaned back in his seat. Looking back up at his father, he detected an indication of vexation in his eyes. Maybe the champagne was a good idea after all.

Watching James take a long sip of his drink, Romeo was encouraged to reach for his own glass. Having uttered nothing since his unexpected encounter with a stark naked Harry, the soothing, bitter trickle of bubbles down his throat made Romeo suddenly aware of its niggling dryness. Likening the taste of the champagne to bile in his mind, Romeo forced down the second gulp pulling a discreet expression of repugnance so as not to offend his father.

Meanwhile, Harry couldn’t tear his eyes away from James, towering unstably above the two of them as if about to perform a one-person show. Witnessing Harry staring at him as if his eyes were the window into the soul, as if they held the answers of how exactly to earn back the heart of a resentful, emotionally stunted lawyer, James was encouraged to speak.

“What do you want Harry?”James asked firmly, setting his jaw tightly to keep from losing his composure in front of Romeo.

His tone was still surprisingly calm. Usually Harry loved that particular uncertainness about James, like how he could never quite decide whether his eyes were hazel or green but this current unruffled demeanour of his was causing him anxiety.

“What do I want?” Harry echoed softly, pushing the blanket aside before rising warily up from the sofa. “Isn’t it obvious? I’ve come back to you James.“

James swallowed deeply, only this time it wasn’t enough to quell his anger. “You’ve came back to me? Am I hearing this right?” James disbelieving, began shaking his head slightly as if to clear the buzzing of Harry’s words from his ears. Slowly, the rush in his ears that came with the echo of Harry’s declaration subsided. “Do you have any idea what I’ve been through these past few months? Anything could have happened to you! For all I knew, you could have been lying dead somewhere in a ditch!”

A shiver coursed through Harry’s spine, the jumper, blanket and hot tea combination offering only an insufficient barrier against the lancing coldness of James’s tone. Harry all but stammered in response. “I know, look I’m sorry… I should have told you where I was… I just… I needed some time alone to just get my head straight. So much had happened and… I thought…”

James lacking both the patience and will to allow Harry to break into his usual long recitation of excuses cut him short. “You thought what? What exactly did you think was going to happen Harry? You thought you’d come waltzing back into my life wearing nothing but a tacky bow and I’d just be standing here with my arms wide open like the fool I am willing to put my entire life on hold for you at the flaccid snap of your fingertips? As I said you’re a child Harry and I’m not about to let my heart be stomped on all over again by a pathetic schoolboy who can scarcely manage to decide what he wants for dinner let alone who or what he wants from life. People move on. Maybe I’ll give you a little moment to try and get your puerile head around that.” He turned as if to walk away but his feet remained planted in the same position by the coffee table.

Harry allowed his head to fall in grudging defeat.

Witnessing this, Romeo repressed the urge to remind James of the little red bow he’d added as a personal touch to the box of shoes he’d purchased for him just a month ago in a desperate bid to win him over; that and the fact that deciding what was for dinner was in no way an easy affair. Bowing his head to conceal the involuntarily curling of his mouth at the memory, he tried contemplating what would be a more delicate approach to assisting Harry in making his father see sense before settling with “Apart from you haven’t really moved on, have you?” 

“Oh what, so you’ve known me for five minutes and now suddenly you’re an expert on my love life and the inner workings of my mind.” James countered.

“Hey! Don’t take it out on him. This is between us!” Harry interjected.

“Oh so what, you’re allies now are you? Friends? Well at least something good has come out of this rather unsolicited reunion.”

Harry felt a hand plant itself unconfidently on the side of his neck. “He doesn’t mean that,” Romeo affirmed, allowing his hand to slide down towards Harry’s shoulder before squeezing reassuringly.

“Oh, don’t I? Won you over like that did he?” James snapped his fingers. “And all it took was a flash of abs and five seconds exposure to his boyish charm.”

“Well he certainly did a better job of a first impression than you did.”Romeo retorted coldly, watching warily as James began eyeing him closely, subjecting each side of his neck and face to a scrutinizing gaze before turning to address Harry despite Romeo being the chosen victim of his incoming remark.

“Well, would you look at that? It seems as though we have a malfunctioning off-switch and just when I was starting to see the appeal. Remind me to find the receipt and ask for an earlier dribbling replacement model. Sons are no fun once they start talking back to you.” Harry lowered his eyes as James began inching in towards him, lowering his stance until his mouth was at level with Harry’s right ear. “That’s if I haven’t already succeeded in throwing you out by then,” he uttered in a low voice with the balefulness he intended.

The taunting made an angry flush rise in Romeo’s cheeks.

Harry on the other hand did not care for James’s games. He was too far engrossed in thoughts of a future where nights with James were no longer something to be craved for, where they no longer had to act on spontaneity, that and the equal possibility of losing it all.

“Yeah, well you needn’t bother with the replacement. I was just leaving” Romeo spat, rising so hastily from his chair that he felt a sudden cramping in his stomach. Harry looked up at him, a desperate pleading in his eyes as if willing for the boy to stay but he’d already torn his eyes away from Harry’s direction to busy himself with locating his jacket.

“No, you are not!” James snapped. “Just sit down and drink your champagne!”

“I’d sooner drink toilet water!” Romeo bristled, still feeling the presence of its vandalising taste on his tongue and lips.

Ignoring Romeo, James went to grab Harry by the shoulder of his jumper, fighting to keep his hold of the fistful of wool as Harry struggled fiercely against him.

“Wait, what are you doing? James, wait no!”

Grabbing onto Harry’s arm to secure his hold, James began tugging him firmly towards the direction of the front door.

“James let go!” Feeling the pull strengthen, out of instinct Harry tried his best to resist, planting his feet firmly at first before leaning backwards to make the act of dragging him across the floor all the more arduous on James’s part.

When James’s efforts failed to seize, Harry tried twisting his body around in an attempt to wiggle his way out of the jumper, which only resulted in a tight readjustment of James’s clasp on his wrist convincing him that the use of words as ammunition was probably a better option in trying to reason with James.

“I’m not going to let you throw me out again! I’m not just going to give up on us!”

Harry felt James’s grip automatically loosen at his words. “Us? There is no-” James returned to eyeing the floor. As Harry filled in what James could not bring himself to finish, a whimper escaped from him.

“James, just listen to me!” Somewhere in the midst of all of this emotional outrage and pleading, tears had begun tainting the natural blue glow of Harry’s eyes. He reached for James, tugging defeatedly at his shirt cuff like a kid reluctant to go to school tugging away at their parent’s sleeve.

“Do not touch me!”

“You said before I left that the only reason I was here was because I had nowhere else to go and do you know what James? You were right. These past couple of months away made me realise, now more than ever, I don’t belong anywhere else or with anybody else. I belong with you! You did this! You made me fall in love with you James whether you intended to or not.”

“Oh so now it’s my fault is it?”

“Yes!” Harry croaked with furtive defeat, mirroring with hurt the look of lancing accusation in James’s eyes.

For several minutes, nothing more was said. There was just the unrelenting pin drop silence whispering the truth hauntingly to James into the distance. As much as he wanted to deny it, he could not be without Harry and whilst so much had changed for him since the day Harry had left, the overbearing love he felt for the boy was certainly not one of them.

“You told me to go James! You told me it was over!”

With a visible effort James returned to talking calmly. “Yes, and what I meant by that was… Look I was angry Harry, justifiably so. And yes, admittedly everything that I said that night might just have been said in the heat of the moment but that doesn’t change the fact that you married someone else-“

“Yes and marrying Ste was the worst mistake of my life!”

James went on as though not hearing him. “Nor does it change the fact that you just upped and left without telling anyone, without telling me! Without any means of communication—”

“I know but James, it wasn’t planned. Look, after you threw me out, I went to see my dad and he… he made me realise that… that—”

James’s insides constricted at the thickness of vulnerability in Harry’s voice.“That what Harry?” He prodded gently.

“That I’m a disgusting person!” Harry choked out.

At that a lump formed in James’s throat which he tried to coax down unsuccessfully.

“Okay wow, when you said you were after an emotional reunion this isn’t exactly what I thought you had in mind,” Romeo drawled, just about done with the day’s events.

James forgetting that Romeo was there followed the direction of the voice, turning briefly to face his son who was now standing in his father’s abandoned spot by the coffee table.

“Emotional reunion? What are you talking about?” James uttered cluelessly.

 

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Romeo shrugged off. “Don’t worry about it.”

Several doubts crossed James’s mind but it wasn’t long before concern for Harry took over, pushing away any thoughts he might have had about Romeo and the questionable innocence of his suspicious passing comment. 

Switching his focus back to Harry, James reached for him, planting a hand on his back before moving his fingers soothingly along his arm. Harry who stood with his head in his hands, fingers furrowed deeply into his hair, stirred at the feel of James’s gentle touch. For him the slip in James’s mask betraying his habitual overprotective attitude was just the small piece of normalcy in these past few months of emotional turmoil that he needed.

“Listen Harry, you’re not a disgusting person.”

“Apart from I am!” Harry pulled away.

“You’re not seriously going to make me go through the whole bright young lad talk again, are you?”

“Look, I’m sorry I should never have come back here. I’m an idiot for thinking this was ever going to work.”

“No you don’t.” James caught Harry’s wrist before his hand had a chance to reach the lock. “You’re not an idiot Harry. Arrogant, conceited however, that you certainly are. I mean this, really?” James said, briefly lifting up Harry’s jumper and gesturing the length of his partially exposed body. “You thought you could crush my heart from leaving and just win me over like that?”

“Are you denying that you weren’t in the slightest part tempted?” Harry blushed. “I just wanted to surprise you.”

“Oh, well you surprised me alright.”

“In a good or bad way?”

“Well put it this way, even if I wanted to, I can’t.” 

“Why not?” Harry asked resignedly, sounding disheartened.

James lowered his voice thoughtfully in a bid to spare Romeo of any further awkwardness. “If you honestly think I want my son familiarising himself with my sex noises before he’s even had the chance to discover my middle name then you can think again.”

Despite still hearing everything, Romeo let his gaze wander appreciatively over towards his father, finally thankful for an opportunity to leave. “It’s okay, I was just heading off now anyway,” he said, feigning an appreciative smile. “Thanks for the champagne.”

“Oh, it’s nothing” said James, waving a hand in dismissal. “Any time.”

“Yeah, about that…” Romeo began, pulling up the collar of his jacket in preparation for his much apprehensively awaited reunion with the frosty night. “I may have to turn you down on that offer.” Then he turned to address Harry. 

“I guess I should probably thank you too, for the…. rather unpleasant sight,” he said, making no attempt to mask the amusement he felt in his voice at the recollection of Harry’s predicament.

Harry looking away but sensing Romeo’s intense gaze boring into his back, shuddered. Hesitantly, he turned towards him nodding a momentary acknowledgment at his words of thanks before remembering something. “Wait Romeo, before you go… thanks for this by the way.”

“No problem mate, any time.”

James’s heart skipped a beat when he realised what was going on. “Wait a minute. Were you in on this?”

“Mostly. Although he might have forgotten to mention the naked part…” Romeo responded rather matter of factly, with total disregard for Harry’s already harmed pride.

"So that’s why you were so insistent on cluttering my bedroom up with a tree and cheap charity shop lights.”

“I think that’s his way of saying thank you.”

“Thank you Harry but I can speak for myself. Romeo… son… I just wanted to thank you…”

Romeo pretending to be underwhelmed at James’s words, screwed his face up as if awaiting more than just a simple thanks for his efforts.

“Wholeheartedly” James added readily if not willingly before opening his arms to offer his son a hug.

“All right that’ll do,” Romeo smirked. “Don’t push it. You’re most certainly welcome Dad.”

xxx

Hearing the door slam behind Romeo, James wasted no time in reaching for Harry in an unconscious act of indulgence. Grasping at the jumper’s woollen neckline he tugged Harry unceremoniously in towards him. At James’s touch, Harry’s composure began to crumble and he allowed his head to fall forward until it rested just below the soothing, incessant flutter of James’s quickened heartbeat. Harry closed his eyes tightly as James cradled his head lovingly against his chest, concentrating only on the sound of James’s breathing and how it calmed at the contact of his touch. It felt so good to finally hold him, to feel James’s warm breathe filter against his cheek, to smell him.

Reaching up with his right hand, James brushed his cold fingertips along the fine layer of stubble on Harry’s jaw, around his earlobe and down his neck. Feeling his muscles stir under James’s touch, Harry grabbed a fistful of James’s shirt before reciprocating gentle strokes around the nape of James’s own neck, fingers brushing lightly over the fine mass of hairs there.

James lowered his head and at as best an attempt as he could manage at trying to mould the quivering in his voice into something seductive, whispered into Harry’s ear "So, seeing as we’re now alone…”

He was interrupted as Harry yanked at his tie, inadvertently tightening it in an attempt to pull James in closer. Harry’s fingers began working eagerly to free his lover’s neck of the long, restrictive piece of cloth but his hands shook so much with the cold and hunger for James’s body that he could not reloosen the knot, only succeeding in tightening it further. After several futile attempts of trying to release the knot, he allowed his hands to fall, inching back slightly as if to leave room for James’s incoming assistance.

Smiling down at a defeated Harry, whose cheeks were glowing in frustration in a faded shade of cardinal, James began delicately picking apart the knot with his fingernails. Wearing a self-congratulatory expression, James allowed Harry to do the honours of removing the tie from his neck.

Feeling James’s hand slip down towards his waist and cling tightly to him just above his hips, Harry was inspired to speak. “So, tell me… what is it you were going to suggest we do Mr Nightingale?“ he uttered in a low, suggestive voice brushing a thumb gently across his lover’s lips eliciting a broad, mischievous grin from James.

"Hmmm, why don’t you go and take these off, put that red bow of yours back on and I’ll walk back in without my sixteen year old son and try to pretend to look just the slightest bit interested.”

“I’m not so sure about that.” Harry teased, unlatching James’s fingers from his waist before turning his head mock sulkingly away from him. "After all, you did say that the bow was tacky?”

James cleared his throat. “Well…” he began unperturbed. “You know what I said about how some things can be said in the heat of the moment and all.”

Reaching for his face, James ran his fingers gradually along Harry’s neck and then down towards his chin, grabbing him firmly by the jaw and turning his face complaisantly back towards him. Looking down, James stared right into the lecherous gaze of Harry Thompson.

The lawyer froze.

“Screw the bow,” Harry said, heedlessly forcing James backwards into a fortunate soft landing of blanket and pillows.

Harry sitting crouched over him, James assisted him in wrestling his way out of the Christmas jumper, relieving his soft skin of its unpleasant scratchy material. Skin exposed to the cold air and chest no longer encompassed in its safe pocket of warmth, Harry began to shiver, not that it at all longer mattered to him that he was cold. What mattered was that he felt an urgent need, one that could not be relieved without the sacrifice of his warmth. He wanted James’s hands and kisses all over him; his admiring touch brushing along every single one of his bones and joints, down every inch and crevice.

Harry waited with bated breath as James began the arduous affair of unbuttoning his shirt, buttons escaping fitfully from his fingers at the sense of urgency for him to undress. Every now and then, following a stalled attempt at releasing a button, James would lean in to place a teasing wet kiss on Harry’s neck. “Aren’t you supposed to be the one undressing me?” James mused aloud.

“Only if you want to be here all night.” Harry replied softly, beguiling the time it took for James to rid himself of his shirt by attempting to steady his hands, occupying them with gently threading his fingers through James’s hair. He paused occasionally to inhale its enticing scent. All attempts to rein his excitement were futile and he felt pleasurable shudders of eagerness course through him all the same.

Reaching the final button, James brushed a hand over Harry’s sandy sweep of hair, running his fingers to the back of his head before coming to rest at the side of his neck. Forcefully stripping James of his shirt, Harry’s fingers curled instantly into the back of his neck, other hand stroking lightly back and forth across his chest causing the lawyer to swallow a moan. Returning Harry’s affections, James began trailing his thumb down the length of his spine, stroking from the base of his skull down to his tailbone, nosing occasionally behind his ear to plant firm, wet kisses on the edge of his neck.

Sliding his hand teasingly around Harry’s back across to the graceful build of his abdomen, James began drawing along the soft indentations of Harry’s ribs before roaming downwards, hand stretching the elastic at the front of his boxers.

The taunting touch made Harry arch involuntarily upwards. Nearly headbutting James in the chin, he choked down a relieved sharp breath. Then screwing his eyes shut, Harry exhaled deeply, preparing himself for what was to come. “James” Harry whined, cursing inwardly at the fulfilment he felt at the act of James easing the boxers past his waist, dropping at his knees.

James developing quite some determination at the rate that things were moving, at how Harry near melted at his touch began guiding Harry’s fingers towards his belt buckle. James’s hands now clutching at his buttocks, Harry carried out the task of unbuckling the belt in a breathless silence, breathing labouredly through wide nostrils and an open mouth.

With his fingers trembling as much as they were and incapable of shifting his position at James’s firm groping of his ass, Harry struggled with the buckle. Witnessing just how much Harry’s hands were shaking, James shifted to help, rising slightly to give a better view of the buckle. 

“Got it” Harry announced beaming, looking up for James’s approval. James began kissing him for a while in ravenous silence, preventing any need for a response. As Harry’s hands began wandering down towards his zip, a soft sigh escaped from James. Feeling the tug below his waist, James reached for Harry’s shoulder, clutching its supple broadness for support, grip tautening as Harry yanked a little harder at the zip. Feeling the eventual downward slide of his trousers closely succeeded by his underwear, James pressed his face into the side of Harry’s neck sucking lightly, gripping Harry tighter still by the shoulders as the lad began groaning aloud pleasurably. 

Unlatching James’s tongue from his neck Harry coaxed him back down, crouching over him to readopt their earlier position. James could feel Harry progressively hardening against his belly. Allowing Harry a moment to smother his body in tender kisses, James closed his eyes reaching up blindly to tickle the perfect curvature of his abs. Slowly, Harry lowered himself, pressing his face against James’s chest, caressing its fine hairs with rapture. Harry’s fingers reaching the edge of his hip, James laid his hand over Harry’s, stilling it. Taking a moment to appreciate the youthful softness of the hand, James began running his fingers pleasantly along the thin bones, closing his eyes in tender admiration for the simple promise of the incoming pleasure they offered.

Then unable to resist for much longer, James turned over, pulling himself from underneath Harry’s lithe form. Once again freeing his tongue from the confines of his mouth, James proceeded to cover Harry from head to toe in soppy kisses, silence broken only momentarily for Harry to utter “As if you’re starting with my feet?”

“It’s called working my way up…. from the best bits.”

As James continued working his way up Harry’s body, Harry tensed even more, clawing at a nearby cushion as he endured the pleasurable scraping of James’s beard against his naked thighs, of the warm trail of drool and breath he left behind. Then, feeling the firm parting of his cheeks, of James’s nose brushing against the base of his spine down towards his crack Harry cried out helplessly, eyes fluttering shut as James prepared to take him. 

xxx

They lay cuddled up together on the sofa afterwards, James clutching onto Harry’s hand, unwilling to let go. James having found a larger blanket to accommodate the two of them had pulled it far up until it rested snugly beneath their chins. All resentment and tension in their air was gone and there was only tenderness between them. Naturally, Harry laid in front of James, pressed tightly against him as the smaller spoon, James stooping his face slightly every now and then to nuzzle his face into Harry’s hair. They fit best that way. 

Tired out from the steady act of making love to his fit, young lover and relishing in the satisfying radiance of warmth that came as a result of their bodies being pressed compactly against each other, James had seen no reason to move. Harry on the other hand, was pained by the one small inconvenience that came with having his back to James, of not being able to admire his beautiful face.

Eventually resigning himself to desire and using cramp as an excuse to move, Harry gradually eased his way out of the embrace with an opposing James. James remained curled up in a worn out slump on the sofa, content and unmoving as Harry spent a long time looking down adoringly at his face, abrading his skin with his stunning blue eyes.

Pressing a kiss on his temple, Harry ran a finger gingerly across a small cut on James’s lip, not recalling the taste of blood during their rather intense and ruthless make-out session on the floor.

Looking up at Harry’s eyes examining his busted lip James laughed. “Don’t even consider taking credit for that. That was me trying to prevent myself from waking up the entire neighbourhood when you started… you know, sucking…”

Harry remaining silent, smiled proudly at the not-so-distant memory.

“So tell me, is this the best present you’ve ever had?” Harry asked eventually, voice still very much hoarse with lust.

“Possibly a close fifth,” James smiled wryly.

“Fifth? And what would that be after exactly.”

“Hmm let’ see, first, a stolen childhood from my father. Second, a false murder allegation that nearly saw me get a lifetime inside. Third, nearly losing you to that drug addled, tracksuit sporting low life—” James began stating grimly before being cut off by a concerned Harry.

“Yeah well you’ll get none of those things from me. I’m never leaving you again.”

“Lucky me.” James murmured playfully to himself.

“Oi! I heard that. So come on then what was the forth?”

“Well, I was going to say a child spawned by none other than the prostitute that my worthless excuse of a father forced me to sleep with but seeing as this particular child in question was partially responsible for this most welcomed reunion with my living, breathing bed warmer—”

James stopped briefly as Harry shot him a lurid death glance.

The snarky remarks slipped so easily off James’s tongue. Harry had worked him so hard he was surprised he still had the energy to come up with such things.

“And might just be starting to grow on me,” he continued. “I guess we could settle for you leaving me to believe that you were quite possibly dead in a ditch somewhere.

"Oh come on James, I’ve already apologised for that.” Harry said defensively.

“So…” James added quickly, desperately willing for a subject change. “Tell me, how exactly did your clothes end up soaking wet?”

“Well I may have run them underneath the shower in cause things didn’t go accordingly to plan.”

“Ahhhh…” James quirked an eyebrow.

“You know so that you’d think against throwing me out before I had a chance to explain things to you.”

"And you weren’t, you know… living on the streets?” James approached this particular subject softly.

“No,” Harry smiled assuringly. “I was staying with Mum." 

"I see.” James sighed relievedly. Harry was gratified at the warm smile James bestowed on him in response. “Well, I guess now it’s time for your present.”

“And what would that be?” Harry winked suggestively at him. “Round two?”

“Not quite, although that could certainly be arranged…” To himself only, James questioned whether he would last a second round considering how much his muscles ached.

“Although…” James began abstractedly.

“Although?" 

"Although, it might be your turn to-” James trailed off, blushing and Harry rewarded him with a grin laced with promise and determination.

“Anyway, your present…” James rose from his cosy nest on the sofa, pausing both to clear his throat and to retrieve something from his jacket pocket. Then, taking hold of one of Harry’s hands and positioning it so that his palm remained widespread, he planted two small, cold shining silver objects into its surface before placing his own hand firmly on top.

“Here’s your… keys back.”


End file.
